The Blue Blouse
by muahaha1524
Summary: Steamy Sherlolly :) But no smut. Do enjoy! R&R!


**Not BBC, don't mind me. Stating the obvious.**

Sherlock pushed Molly Hooper through the door of 221b, hardly caring to acknowledge Mrs. Hudson sweeping the landing. She stopped and asked if anything was wrong, only to be ignored by Sherlock. Even Molly, with her loving, sweet nature couldn't keep her hormones in check long enough to speak a word of dismissal.

"Oh dear," Mrs. Hudson muttered, deciding to go for a walk that instant. Sherlock never acted like this, ever. The fact he was now scared her a smidge and she clearly didn't care to stick around while the obviously inevitable happened.

_Flashback to earlier:_

There was nothing better to do, so Sherlock chose to go visit the morgue. See if there was anything new, or anything Molly had to update him on. Beside, the morgue was always a calm place to be. Unlike the rest of the hospital where living patients lived, breathed, talked, distracted, and made it too social for him. Most of them were likely on their deathbed anyway, so it was just overall depressing. Not that the morgue wasn't depressing, but all the people there were sound and peaceful. Not dying in some kind of agony or another.

Especially since there was a very special friend of his that worked there. Doctor Molly Hooper always managed to brighten the place up. Even if she didn't know she did that to him. Always, she had seen herself as worthless to him, pointless, thinking she doesn't count and all sorts of untrue rubbish. Molly was his brilliant, sweet, always kind, always there, never failing him and constantly by his side pathologist. Even if he only kept this in his head. Most times he wouldn't even think about it, and just ignore her. Sherlock did this as a default to the alternative of leading her to him wen he hardly deserved her.

Another reason he never let himself think of this was that his astoundingly low compassion sickened him.

Now, past the sentimental side notes.

Sherlock pushed through the wide, shiny, metal swinging doors into the lamp-lit room. Rain poured heavily on the large, broad windows, completely obscuring vision to the street or the rest of London. The only person there, as usual, was Molly. Underneath the crisp, white lab coat she wore a knee-length dress that button from the hem to the neckline, where a few were carelessly left undone, adding an airy, slightly seductive look that Sherlock immediately scolded himself for noting.

Her hair was not up in its usual ponytail, but instead two braids that were pinned up on the top of her head in a Scandinavian style he quickly grew subconsciously fond of. It suited her better than her normal, self-conscious look. Molly looked up and saw Sherlock, and her careless face collected and nervous.

"Hi Sherlock. How's your day?" she asked.

"Oh, it's been fine so far. I was offered a case but I found out soon after it was hardly a three. So to speak, I'm caseless. Anything new here?"

"No. Nothing unusual at all. Just a few natural deaths, but they were all different reasons of people who were older and completely unrelated. Um," she paused in a silent, pregnant moment. "Have you checked your e-mail for a case?"

"Oh, yes. Nothing decent."

Now that the basic conversation had died off, they stood, on different sides of the room in a once more pregnant silence. Molly never really had a chance like this, so she swallowed her jittery attitude and straightened her back and shoulders. She was thirty-one now. Most of her friends from college were married, and she wasn't even seeing anyone at the moment. Time to possibly change that.

"I was wondering, since you're here. Are you busy?"

"Well, obviously not. Molly, pay attention. I've just been telling you I have nothing to do."

His slightly rude words turned Molly's face stern, and she shot him an unappreciative glare before looking back to her clipboard, which she held to her chest.

"I was just asking if you were busy later, for dinner. I don't know why I bothered. You never acknowledge me and you never care or accept. There's nothing new here anyway so I don't know why you're even still standing there." she snapped. Her words pumped adrenaline through her, and she never felt more empowered.

"I'm sorry, Molly, but-"

"Bye." Molly said, not looking up. She waved a hand at him, excusing him. Sherlock scoffed in disbelief. She never acted like this towards him! Maybe the summer heat wave was getting to her head. However, he turned on the spot and strode out of the morgue, Belstaff flowing in his wake.

When he was gone, for sure, she looked back up and smiled to herself. Good on her! She finally told him, didn't she? That prat-bag of dirt who treated her like garbage. Molly had finally told him off for his rude comments.

But, this girl-power moment was cut short by a ring on her phone. It wasn't a call, it was a text. Only texts sounded like a note of the TARDIS vworp. Oh, she'd been made fun of her text-tone by so many. But when she received a text in a public area, many hopeful fangirls would swerve their heads to her. It was rather amusing.

The text was from Sherlock.

_I wanted to apologise, Molly. I did not mean to hurt you. Please attend the restaurant below your flat at 7:30 pm if convenient. xx_

_-SH_

Molly couldn't believe her eyes. Had her crush of years and years just asked her out on a date because she snapped at him? She never snaps at him, but this time she did and now he want to go out with her? Molly Hooper? She must be imagining this. Sherlock never apologises and never asks ladies out for dinner. Only John does that. Even though his girlfriends usually fail. Poor John.

Another text rang out. It was also from Sherlock.

_If inconvenient, come anyway. Also, dress nicely but not formal. Try that blue blouse I've only seen you wear once or twice. It suits you very nicely. xx_

_-SH_

Sherlock Holmes did not just tell her to wear the only low-cut blouse she owns. Sherlock Holmes did not just give her fashion advice. Sherlock Holmes did.

It was all a shock really. Her shift ended in an hour, and she hadn't even touch her pile of paperwork. Oh, but it would be oh so difficult to concentrate now.. With her mind whirling with girlish thoughts on how romantic tonight would be.

Sherlock was fighting to decide whether to wear his purple shirt or his white one. Quite honestly, he liked the purple one more. But the white one would look nicer with blue, given Molly wears the blouse he recommended. She has every right not to. But, given her unfortunately gullable personality it was likely she would. However, he gave in to his nagging wishes to wear the purple shirt. A knock at the door.

"Yes, what is it."

"Sherlock? What are we going to do for dinner? I thought maybe-"

"Sorry, John. I won't be home for dinner. Going out."

Did John Watson just hear him correctly? With whom?

"What do you mean you're going out?" John asked, confused.

"It means I'm going to see Molly Hooper tonight. Pay attention, John. You see but you do not observe."

John choked on himself.

"Sorry, are you going on a date? An actual, proper date? With Molly Hooper? Is this just a case? I'll bet twenty quid it is."

"Well it isn't a case." Sherlock said as he swung the door open, facing John in his purple shirt. "You said twenty, did you not? I'm running low on cab money anyway."

Molly glanced at the time, which said it was seven and fifteen minutes. She should go down now. One more look in the mirror showed she did look very nice. Her blue blouse was more low cut than she remembered, and it gave her confidence. Her hair was down, completely natural, actually. She hadn't worn it down in so long, it was lengthy and tousled and made her look even nicer. She slipped into flats and locked her flat-door behind her after scratching Toby behind his ears which resulted in a pleased 'mew'.

She spotted Sherlock sitting at the table by the window. The restaurant was themed light green, and it was dim and cozy, only a few other people were there. The window revealed a shining London street, full of pedestrians and cars and cabs and soaked pavement from clearing rain. It was beautiful. The look of soaked pavement had always looked appealing to Molly.

"Hi." she said softly, sliding into the booth across form her date.

"How's your evening, Molly?" he asked and finally looked to her from the window. His face went from composed and normal to an expression she had never seen before, but it was gone instantly.

What Molly didn't know, was that lately she had been acting in a way that sort of turned him on. She was resurfacing feeling Sherlock had only felt a few times in his life. Being a virgin, also, he had never acted on these feelings. But Molly made him want to. And just that thought turned him on even more.

Small talk and nibbling on food (neither were hungry) only led to Sherlock rethinking his choices on the wall he had built protected women from making him give in to desires he felt unnecessary. Tonight he watched that wall fall, brick by brick as the evening continued. And of all the women to make it shatter, Molly Hooper.

She was in the middle of telling a funny story from University when he rudely interrupted her simply because he could take it no longer.

"Molly are you even hungry?"

"Well, no, not really.."

"Then why stay?" he asked. Molly felt a joy rise up in her. Was... was Sherlock Holmes trying to ask her back to his flat?

"Where would we go?" Molly questioned.

"My flat or yours, take your pick." he whispered in her ear as he leaned over the table. Molly nearly chocked on her water. So he was asking her to his flat.

"My room is a mess so-"

"My flat then." he agreed, dropping some pounds on the table without paying attention. He stood up anxiously and beckoned for her to come with him, pitching out his hand.

They caught a cab. In the darkness of the backseat, Sherlock nuzzled Molly's ear with his nose as she thought to herself,

_What the HELL is he doing__?_

But in a good way. She didn't really mind.

Sherlock pushed Molly Hooper through the door of 221b, hardly caring to acknowledge Mrs. Hudson sweeping the landing. She stopped and asked if anything was wrong, only to be ignored by Sherlock. Even Molly, with her loving, sweet nature couldn't keep her hormones in check long enough to speak a word of dismissal.

"Oh dear," Mrs. Hudson muttered, deciding to go for a walk that instant. Sherlock never acted like this, ever. The fact he was now scared her a smidge and she clearly didn't care to stick around while the obviously inevitable happened.

Up the stairs, Sherlock broke away from her long enough to unlock the door.

"Sherlock, is John here?" she asked in horror when she noticed light spilling out from underneath the door. "We can't snog if John is here!"

"Why? I'm almost positive he won't mind. And if he does, he'll go to Sara's house. That's what he always does when I'm 'annoying' or whatever useless insult he uses as an excuse to sneak off for a sh-"

"Shut up." Molly said, elbowing him breathlessly. Her body was a hormonal battleground, she could feel it. It felt nice.

He opened the door and let Molly in, snaking his arms back around her waist and kicking the door shut with his heel. Molly complied, fighting the giggles as they tried in vain to quietly snog their way to Sherlock's room without John noticing. Sherlock and Molly stumbled into his room, and the door was shut behind them.

John, however, sat at a cleared spot on the kitchen table with his mouth open and his fork halfway up. Molly. Sherlock. Molly and Sherlock. In a room. Sherlock's room. Together. Tonight. Snogging. Clear intentions. Did he just.

Well, he dropped his fork as he lost his appetite and grabbed his jacket, not really wanting to stick around. Once on the street, he barely walked a few steps before he ran into Mrs. Hudson.

"You too?" John asked. Mrs. Hudson nodded, grinning knowingly. "Hungry?"

But inside 221b was another story. Molly's heels and shoulder bag were carelessly tossed on the floor, and she was pressed between the matress and Sherlock. It felt like a dream. And the fact they made it all the way to his flat was a miracle. Before long, Molly's clothes formed a pile near her shoes. On top of her clothes, Sherlock's clothes.

"Molly?" Sherlock whispered hours later. It must have been three in the morning. The sheets of his bed were wrapped around Molly and Sherlock, and she was caught in his arms. She could barely breathe, but she also didn't really care. Too tired to care. Their late night activities had lasted so long into the morning hours she fought to keep her eyes open.

"Yes Sherlock?" she whispered in reply, a sweet, loving tone she had always dreamed of speaking to him with.

"I love you, my wonderful pathologist." he muttered in her ear. Sherlock had mentioned that he loved her multiple times in the last five six-or-so hours, but this time was different. She felt it in the pit of her stomach that he meant it truly and for real.

"And I love you."

**Aaaaaannd, I hope you liked it! Please review. Reviews encourage me to write more. Please also give me prompts, I could use some sometimes :)**


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